


Recherché

by MadMadamMims



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 06:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMadamMims/pseuds/MadMadamMims
Summary: Inspired by the Game Heroes 3





	Recherché

A Hero’s loyalty is pledged before he can even take his first breath, and the best test of a Hero’s strength is either by the wealth of his magic or the force of his might. But make no mistake, being a Hero is not a choice; it’s a privilege. Heroes can be hired and fired, abandoned or revered, but they aren’t made. _No._ Heroes . . . are born.

“What a bunch of bullshit.” Archus mutters. He motions to the barkeep for another shot of whatever he’s been drinking for the last couple of hours.

“Not gonna clean up your mess, Necromancer?” quips the human behind the bar. With a raised eyebrow, he pours the sullen Hero another shot.

“They’re all dead anyway.” Archus laughs sardonically before downing the vicious liquid in his glass. He slams it down on to the bar and slides a black tongue across pale lips, trying in vain to savor every drop of alcohol that has no effect on his Undead-body.

The barkeep gives a heavy sigh. "Your father would be ashamed."

Archus just shrugs and shoos him away. The human’s irritation is merely an annoyance. He wipes a rough hand across his face. “Clean up my mess? Yeah, don't worry, old man. Can't fuck up any more than this.” He hisses, staring into the empty bottom of his glass.

It was supposed to be a quiet night, a normal night at the Necropolis Castle. He had snuck out sometime after midnight to play poker with a couple of undead in the Cursed Temple when a few hours later the shrill cry of a Wraith interrupted their game. Assuming the alarm meant the return of Archus' father, the Death Knight, they all rushed into the courtyard to check.

Archus remembers the Skeleton that stepped out of the Temple first, going in front of the Necromancer as was protocol, because bound creatures always protect their Hero at any and all cost. But then came the _fthhhhht_ sound of arrows slicing through the pre-dawn air and the Skeleton fell back against him, his metal armor pierced by the arrow’s head. And normally this wouldn’t be that big of a deal, after all, a Skeleton’s just a pile of bones anyway, but then the undead creature started to convulse in Archus' arms and they both fell to the ground.

And it wasn’t until the Walking Dead stopped walking and the Wraiths stopped crying that the young Hero realized that it wasn’t the stab that was killing them all. It was the fletching attached to the ends of the arrows. Like clouds of white that he had only seen in pictures, the ends of the arrows were all made with Angel Feathers. And for a creature that’s supposed to be dead, yet somehow still alive, well, anything that comes from Angels has the power to free the trapped soul that’s been stuck inside the body. To free the soul from its purgatorial limbo. 

And as his army started to die all around him, Archus' body lay hidden, covered and protected under the dead pile of bones on top of him. And while he lay there, he began to realize that everything he had been taught had all been one big fucking lie. Because it wasn’t Angels that attacked the Castle of Necropolis. It wasn’t good vs. evil like it should have been. Like it’s always been. 

He had been betrayed by one of his own.

Archus lets out a muffled sound that’s somewhere between a huff and a grumble as he leans over his empty glass. “We were supposed to be a Goddamn team and they went and fucked it all up!” He yells as his bar stool swivels around and the empty glass in his hand gets thrown to the scuffed wood of the tavern floor.

The resounding crash is loud and shrill as the shards of crystal spread out like the limbs of a Dendroid. The barkeep starts moving towards him as the other Heroes in the Tavern gasp and whisper, wondering if the young Necromancer's gone mad or rogue or both.

 _But wait._ Archus shakes his head. He didn’t throw that glass just now. He looks down at his shaking hand and feels another empty shot glass slide into his grip, almost too quick to even see. 

“What the fuck’s going on?!” He yells as he seems to yet again throw a glass to the Tavern floor and he can hear their words before they're spoken. _Failure! He's no Hero! Someone should put this weakling out of his misery!_ And he knows he’s got about thirty seconds to get out of there before Incantations start flying because nobody likes a wayward Hero messing shit up.

So the young Necromancer quickly flees from the old rickety Tavern. A place that’s nothing more than a Hero for Hire, really. Filled with deserters, abandonees, or merely the weak of will. Archus never pretended to be strong, he's always known where he stood; last place, or close to it. It was a shock even to him that his father left the castle under his reign while he was away, but obviously someone knew it was the perfect opportunity. 

Even just thinking about it, Archus grabs chunks of his short silvery-grey hair and tries to pull what little is left out of his head. “Ahhhhg! There wasn’t supposed to be any attack!” Archus shouts to the empty air and heaves a heavy sigh. Its times like these he wishes he wasn’t Undead so the mind-erasing effects of alcohol could actually ease his mental suffering. Speaking of which. _What in Hell was up with those glasses?_ Somebody's trying make him look like more of a fool than he already is.

Archus frowns when he looks down at his pale hands and sees that they’re covered in tiny silver droplets.

“What the fuck?” He raises his hands closer to his eyes and watches as the droplets fall to the ground. However, they don’t splatter against the bones of the deceased skeleton lying next to his boots. They bounce off, making little clinks against the marrow as if they were solid.

A silver liquid that’s solid. He blinks. “Mercury?”

With a wary eye Archus starts making his way through the quiet marketplace back to the castle, but all he sees is pile after pile of corpses, a display of his failure mocking him at every turn. Archus stumbles over a wayward bone and watches it roll across the ashen, cracked dirt of the unholy ground. But as the hand rolls to a stop, Archus blinks, and suddenly the fingers have moved. _Wait!_ The fingers have definitely moved. And the metatarsals have been manipulated into a pointing gesture.

But don’t get ahead of yourself. Bones don’t move on their own. _Unless._ Archus takes in a halting breath. _Another Hero._ He looks around quickly, wondering if perhaps he was followed out of the Tavern, but there’s no one around. In the lifeless, death-ridden darkness of the Necropolis . . . there’s simply no one left.

Archus turns at a sound, and for a second he thinks he’s seeing a Wraith flying through the air towards him, what with its black-tattered shroud and skeletal undercoating, but no. It’s just more dead bodies being manipulated, a little clumsily even, as if they were dancing. One by one, bones move here and there and black wisps of smoke start collecting in the air all around him. And now he’s starting to get really irritated.

“Stop fucking with me, what do you want?” He snarls at the invisible culprit manipulating the dead bones of his fallen comrades. He follows their movements indicating he should head south, and as he rounds the corner, he goes stock still. 

There, past the Graveyard standing just outside the border of unholy ground is a Unicorn. A pure-white thoroughbred, with eyes the color of blood and clearly very far off-trek. But make no mistake, this creature of the light and living is deadly powerful.

Archus puts his hands up in a defensive motion. If he's under attack he needs to strike, but all he has is a spell-less book. _That's right._ This young fuck up of a Necromancer that hid like a coward while his army was slaughtered, hasn't been able to learn a single solitary spell, but he feels something coming up behind him, a heavy and powerful presence. He moves to dig into the satchel at his right hip thinking worst case he can whack it over the head with the book and flee, but the deep and taunting chuckle behind his right ear only confirms what his hands already know. His satchel is empty and his spell book is gone. 

“Well, fuck.” Archus mutters and bites his lip as he feels a hand press against his back and another hold his head in place. He goes ram-rod straight and takes in a steadying breath as black vapors start to enclose around him.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Necromancer. We just need to borrow your magic.” 

Archus blinks and licks his pale lips as he weighs his options. Oh, that’s right. He has none. He has no Spell Book and no army. He might as well not even be called a Hero at this point. 

The Unicorn gruffs and inclines it’s head towards the dirt path leading towards the Subterranean Gate.

Archus is pushed forward, which reminds him he’s not fully aware of what he’s up against so he slowly walks behind the Unicorn until they’ve gone beneath the surface and have entered the Underworld. Evil meets evil. _Work together they said. Pah!_ Archus grumbles to himself. They walk by the light of the Unicorn’s horn till they reach a Prison bordering along the Dungeon’s castle. 

Archus frowns when they come to a stop. “A Prisoner of War? You want me to release your Hero?”

“She’s not a Hero.” says the deep voice behind him.

Archus raises a skeptical eyebrow. “But only Heroes are kept in Prisons.”

However, any further back and forth banter, is quelled as he continues to be pushed forward, past the wooden gate and stone wall. Once he’s up the steps to a second story cell, he stands in the darkness until a post is lit and the room becomes aglow with firelight. Archus squints and moves closer, cautiously yet curiously. He makes it up to the cell bars and can make out the outline of a body. A human body. Or at least he thinks so, as it moves slowly into a standing position and takes a step forward into the light.

“Oh.” Archus whispers, his dead eyes going wide.

It’s a young girl. Standing tall and thin wearing only cotton breeches, her breasts are covered by waist length black hair, falling in two thick strands down her front. 

Archus shakes his head. “What are you?” He asks as he peers closer, his hand coming to rest against the metal Prison bar.

“No!” the prisoner screams, her hands coming up and her face contorting in terror.

But it’s too late.

Archus is confused for about 2.4 seconds as the Prison bars turn translucent and then surge with power, knocking his Undead-body off his feet and thrown back against the stone wall of the cell. 

“Shit.” 

“It’s a Force Field.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Archus mutters under his breath as he removes a rusty nail that’s gotten lodged in the back of his arm. He’s never been hit by a Force Field before and even now, he can’t say that it was terribly unpleasant or anything. It’s not like his undead-body can _feel_ pain. He’s more irritated about the nail leaving a permanent hole in his skin because after all, he can’t exactly heal.

“But, wait!” Archus laughs as a revelation suddenly comes to him. He looks up at the prisoner standing behind the bars. “It’s a Force Field!” He shouts loudly and slightly breathless, his pale eyes growing wider in excitement.

“He’s gone mad, Zora.” the deep voice from before whispers into the air, form still cloaked in mist and not see-able to the naked eye.

Zora shakes her head. “No, he’s a Necromancer. He can’t go mad.”

“That’s right! I’m a Necromancer.” Archus shouts while pointing at himself. ”You kidnapped a Necromancer to dispel Earth Magic?! Hah!” He continues to laugh as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in a while, and let’s be real. It probably is.

Zora smiles, finding the Hero's baffled antics quite amusing. She puts a hand in the pocket of her breeches and produces a small marble. She bends down onto one knee and rolls it underneath the bars. And much to Archus' surprise, it passes through the force field easily.

“Give him his Spell book.”

Archus picks up the marble that’s settled near his boots. It’s clear and filled with what looks like sand.

“An Orb of Silt?” Archus questions out loud, both intrigued and perplexed to see such a rare Artifact. _Where in the world could she have gotten something like this?_ Archus moves towards the bars again, more careful this time. He peers in and takes a closer look at the prisoner.

The pale skin, the high cheek bones, full lips, and blue eyes. He's never seen one before, but there's no mistaking that this is no human and certainly no Hero. 

"An Elf?" He whispers, finding himself slightly mesmerized by the idea, but when the girl’s pale cheeks slightly flush, he physically flinches and when her blue eyes seem to shine brighter, Archus takes a quick step back.

“Listen.” He points to the prisoner behind the bars. “Your weird Elf-y magic won’t work on me. So don’t try anything funny.”

Zora laughs, her hands clutching her stomach and her mouth falling open in beguiled amusement. “What? Silly Hero, I can’t do any magic.”

Archus glares at the girl with doubt. "How did you find me? Do you know about the attack at my castle?"

"No." Zora shakes her head. "I just sent Remy to find me a Hero."

"Well he sure picked a winner." Archus quips looking down at the marble in his hands. He rolls it around between his fingers a few times feeling the power within it. "I couldn't free you even if I wanted to." 

"Because you're weak?"

Archus glares at her, but she's not wrong. 

Zora shrugs one shoulder and walks to a darkened corner of her cell. She returns with a brown tattered cloak. It looks dirty and worn and old and basically worthless, but it has Archus dropping the marble in his hand. The room goes deathly quiet in the seconds it takes for the marble to fall through the air and clink against the floor. 

"T-that's a Recherché." Archus almost chokes over his words as he takes a step forward, reaching for the cloak behind the bars until Zora jerks back in reminder of the force field.

The Elf eyes the cloak in her hands. "Indeed, one of the most powerful relics ever created." She looks towards the Necromancer teasingly. "And it needs an undead owner."

Archus blinks. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm going to give this to you and you’re going to set me free."

He looks at her cross-eyed, trying to understand what this Elf is saying. _You mean to tell me a creature of good wants to give an evil hero the most powerful relic ever created?_

He laughs breathlessly. "You must be desperate!"

"Aren't we all?" She challenges. "You saying you don't want this?"

He shakes his head. "No I want it, I want it, I . . . really fucking want that."

Zora smiles and tosses the cloak through the bars. It lands half in half out of the field. Archus reaches down to pull it the rest of the way. His hands shake as he picks it up and throws it around his shoulders. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath--out of habit really, since he's not truly breathing, but he waits for . . . something. Some kind of sign that tells him that he's suddenly become powerful. That he's truly become a Hero. 

But . . . there's nothing. No change. He looks up, unable to mask his disappointment.

"It's not that easy. You gotta’ at least try a spell." Zora reasons.

Archus nods shakily and turns to see his spell book lying on the floor where he dropped the marble. He bends down, licking his lips as he flips through to the incantation for Summoning. He's not able to perform Earth Magic, but this little marble can, or more specifically the Elemental inside it. 

Archus starts reciting the words slowly, his voice clear and smooth as it echoes around the room, creating a chaos of whispers and tones. And as Archus continues to speak, his words bordering somewhere between a whispered chant and a hummed hymn, the small marble on the floor starts to glow. Archus then raises his voice an octave and the marble starts to shake as the light gets brighter and brighter. And finally as if reaching a peak in pitch, Archus lets out a shrill note, too high and too loud for normal ears to comprehend, but the marbles cracks, sending rays of light into the dimly lit room. And out of the brightly gleaming streams of light, comes with it is a creature much larger than Archus anticipated. The Earth Elemental starts to materialize out of the grains of sand that have been scattered across the Prison floor starting with legs and then a torso to finally arms and a head. Out of tightly compacted silt and soot, the Elemental takes shape, but is far too tall for the low ceilings of the Prison so its head hits the top with a resounding thud, causing it to lose its balance and stomp awkwardly across the floor.

“Holy Shit.” Archus whispers, his eyes wide and mouth open as he remains horrifyingly entranced with the large, dark brown, creature currently fumbling all around as if it’s confused.

“Oz! Can you hear me?” Zora yells, trying to get the disgruntled creature to recognize her.

But the Elemental can’t seem to get his bearings. His hands cover his head and his mouth opens only to let out a deep, guttural moan as if it’s in pain. He raises a large and heavy leg, trying to turn around at the voice he hears calling his name, and would have stomped Archus into the floor below them, had the quick-witted Necromancer not have scrambled out of the way. They've got to get a hold of Elemental quickly because with every heavy step the large creature takes, the walls begin to shake and the floor starts to rumble. And before you know it, they’ll all be buried under a pile of stone.

“Oz! Listen to me! It’s Zora, I need you to set me free!”

Oz's moans again, whether in fear or further confusion, is uncertain. The massive creature falls to one knee, the force of his weight further causing the old Prison to crack and creak under the pressure. 

And as the Elemental gets to his feet again, Archus feels like he's suddenly coming out from a daze, like he was dead and now he's alive. _His first ever spell and he summoned a mother fucking Earth Elemental! In your face, old man! Nobody's going to tell him he's weak ever again!_

"Yo, Necromancer! A little help here?!" Zora screams.

Archus scrambles back up to his feet. He looks around and thinks. "We need fire. W-we need to set it on fire!"

Zora nods quickly, running to the back wall and grabbing a torch. She jams it in between the cell bars and stabs the Elemental in his gut, unleashing a wave of fire upon the creature’s skin.

And it burns. Oh does it burn, which causes the Elemental to groan, low and deep until his entire body is set fully aflame. Oz fists his hands and flexes his arms before letting out a bellowing scream as his power is released into the room. It explodes into an ever-expanding ring of Earth Magic and as it hits the Force Field holding Zora captive, it starts to pulse. So Oz flexes harder and screams louder until the bars start to crack and the spell begins to crumble and like a whoosh of air being let out of sealed jar, everything seems to vacuum in on itself suddenly, all the power sucking back into the Elemental from whence it came. But the force of the returning power hits Oz so hard that it knocks the giant creature off its feet. And with the way the Prison is barely still standing, something needs to happen before the large body can reach the surface of the floor and bring the whole structure down.

“Shit!” Archus clambers towards his book, seeing the 8ft tall, 300 pound creature falling steadily towards the weak flooring below, he flips the page and screams out. “Unsummon! Unsummon!”

And just like that, the Earth Elemental collapses into millions of pieces of silt and sand and dirt until it gathers and forms the tiny marble once again.

“Bloody Hell.” Archus sighs in relief. His whole body tilts forward towards the floor, but then there’s a hand touching his shoulder and Archus snaps back up, very much alert. He takes in a sharp breath when he sees the newly-freed Elf crouching in front of him, merely a foot away. 

“See, not so weak anymore now, are ya?”

“Why?! Why would you give this to me?” Archus asks almost frantically as he claws at the cloak around his shoulders. The twinges of its power just now starting to prickle his skin.

Zora sits back on her heels and takes a dramatic pause. "You wanna know why the ancients created artifacts in the first place?"

Archus shakes his head, baffled at the silly question. "Chance, of course. It gives either side the chance to win."

"Ah Ah Ah," Zora corrects. "That's not chance. That's called hope. Being a Hero's not about the wealth of your magic or the force of your might, it's about your desire to win. I've got all these Artifacts, but no Hero to use them, no Hero with the desire strong enough, whether it be retribution or simply acknowledgement, don't you _feel_ something? Like you have something to prove?" Zora asks.

Archus scoffs. "Don't ask me how I feel, okay? Trust me, I know all about being the underdog. You think one powerful Artifact is going to change that?"

"Nope." Zora stands up. "Not just one Artifact, but where there's one, there's many and I just happen to have a knack for collecting the rare and hard to find."

"I don't understand."

Zora holds out her hand.

Archus dazedly looks at her symbolic offering. “But that’s unheard of. You’re good and I’m evil. We don’t fight for the same team.”

“Are you sure about that? Who just helped free me from this Prison? And who attacked your castle?"

Archus blinks. Right, how could he forget? His castle. His army. His _new enemy_. He laughs, dragging a hand over his face. He can either go down bitter and ashamed or he could do something that's quite frankly out of his fucking mind. He thinks about his father's return, the tavern whispers, the laughing stock he would be. He lets his hands fall from his face and looks the Elf straight in the eye. If he touches her hand, they’re bound to each other until they die or are dismissed. She knows that and he knows that and there’s no going back once it’s done. They’ll be a team of good and evil. Something that’s never been done before. They’ll have to amass a new army and find a new castle and fight their own fight.

“Together?” He asks a little uncertainly reaching for her hand.

She nods. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Game Heroes 3


End file.
